


Panthera tigris altaica

by Mugatu



Series: Wildlife Photographers AU [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Carol and Ezekiel own an animal rescue, F/M, M/M, past animal deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: Every December he’s been in Georgia during the past fifteen years Daryl celebrates Christmas with Carol’s family then New Year’s with Rick’s. After meeting Paul Daryl brings him along whenever the other man is also in Georgia during the holidays. They’re usually on assignment together so it works out well, but this is the first time in three years both of them have been “home” for the holidays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Leroy” is Ezekiel, Carol, and Sophia’s last name in this fic, (pronounced “la-ROY”, it’s from the French word for King, see what I did there) and “Dr. Naresh” is Siddiq. This takes place a few months after "Mirounga angustirostrus" but the rest of the fics in this series won't necessarily be linear.

Every December he’s been in Georgia during the past fifteen years Daryl celebrates Christmas with Carol’s family then New Year’s with Rick’s. After meeting Paul Daryl brings him along whenever the other man is _also_ in Georgia during the holidays. They’re usually on assignment together so it works out well, but this is the first time in three years both of them have been “home” for the holidays.

The previous Christmas Paul was booked last minute for an assignment in India photographing Ganges river dolphins and Daryl is _still_ pissy and jealous over it. They’re species Daryl has never even seen before—though he’s glimpsed some of their cousins in the Amazon—and Paul got to spend two weeks tracking them through Sundarban National Park among mangrove forests crawling with tigers, salt water crocs, and bull sharks. Lucky little fucker got some spectacular shots of all of them in addition to the dolphins.

The Christmas before that they both were in Patagonia ostensibly to photograph southern elephant seals but mostly to visit Aaron; the year before _that_ they were in South Africa for great whites _._ The Leroy and Grimes families have both been loudly hinting the couple is overdue for a holiday celebration at “home”; Ezekiel has gone so far as to claim he only remembers what Paul looks like because he sees his doppelgänger every Sunday at church. It gets even worse when word gets out that Paul came within inches of dying during their vacation in Big Sur; Carol dispenses with the hints and flatly tells them a Christmas visit is  _mandatory_ this year.

Thankfully the timing worked out well; their last assignment of the year was in Mexico during the end of November and beginning of December; after that they have a rare month with nothing scheduled. They spend a few weeks in their cabin just relaxing. Daryl actually gets to take out his bow and go hunting for the first time in years. Despite how rusty he is Daryl’s able to kill three deer before they head down to the Kingdom for Christmas, one a beautiful ten-point buck. He carves that one up and freezes the meat for his and Paul’s use over the next year; the other two are field-dressed and left to hang in the shed mostly whole until it’s time to leave for the Kingdom. Daryl plans to gift them to Vasily and Kali, who have become his favorite tigers since Shiva’s death.

They have to pass through Atlanta to get from their cabin in Dahlonega down to where the Kingdom is located outside of Griffin. Even though it’s a Saturday traffic is a bastard when they hit the city, after ten long minutes creeping down the interstate they come to a complete stop. Daryl shifts restlessly in the passenger seat; it’s a good thing Paul is driving.He thinks the guy in the Ford Explorer to his right is staring at them and Daryl blames Paul. His husband’s offbeat sense of humor is the reason the truck has a collection of bumper stickers that tends to draw stares. A World Wildlife Fund sticker next to one that reads “Fuck PETA”; “Real men love Jesus” and “Crossbows: because guns are for wimps” next to “Warning: Driver so gay he can’t even drive straight” and “Environment Preservation Society of Georgia.” Daryl scowls back at the guy, who quickly snaps his head forward.

“Should’ve taken 285,” Daryl mutters after several more long minutes crawl by. He twists around to look out the back window where the deer have been wrapped up in a tarp and covered with a few bags of ice. He’d like to get to the Kingdom and unload them before it all melts, it’s almost ten degrees warmer down here than up in the mountains.

“Too late now,” Paul replies in a deliberately patient voice, “Once we’re past the connector we’ll be able to make up the time.”

Daryl knows this intellectually, but still finds the crawl of traffic maddening. He fidgets for a few minutes, “Maybe you can cut across and hook up with I-20—“

“ _Daryl._ We’ll get there when we get there. I can give you a hand job or something if you need a distraction.”

Daryl honestly considers it before shaking his head, “Nah, I’m good.” He’s not big on exhibitionism and doesn’t want to make a mess. Besides, while Paul has a much longer fuse than Daryl and road rage is rare it still happens. He’d rather not have Paul break off his dick by accident if he gets cut off by some dickhead with a MAGA sticker.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Paul says with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Daryl huffs out a laugh and takes Paul’s hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin of the back. “Think I’ll wait till we’re somewhere with a bed, if’n it’s all the same.” They spend so much time in the field that fucking indoors on a bed somewhere that’s climate-controlled is an exciting novelty.

Paul grins and raises Daryl’s hand to his lips for a kiss, “Probably for the best.”

*****************

Paul’s right about making up the time, of course. Once they leave the city behind the roads empty exponentially the closer they get to Griffin and they’re entirely alone once they leave the interstate for the country roads that lead toward the Kingdom. Most people would describe its location as “off the beaten path” but Daryl and Paul’s definition of that phrase is different from most. They come in through the back gates that are closed to the public and covered with signs reading "WARNING: EXOTIC ANIMALS", "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW" "VOLUNTEERS ENTER THROUGH THE MAIN GATE". Daryl jumps out to punch in the security code in the keypad; it takes him two tries as he forgets that Ezekiel and Carol changed them all recently after years of the same codes for everything. Their first stop is the food processing center, where volunteers prepare thousands of pounds of meat for the carnivorous members of the Kingdom family and just as many pounds of plants for the Kingdom's herbivores.  Processing is finished for the day and feeding won't be for another couple of hours so there isn’t a volunteer working the food processing center. Daryl has to fish out his master key so they can unload the deer carcasses into the meat locker, leaving a note behind that reads "deer for KALI and VAS next whole food day--D. Dixon". Then they hop back into the truck and head toward the big farmhouse in the center of the Kingdom where the Leroy family resides.

The first thing Sophia says to Daryl when she answers the door is a cheerful, “Mom’s gonna kill you!”

Daryl blinks and freezes with his arm stretched out for the customary hug, “What’d I do?”

“I’m sure whatever is was you deserve it,” Paul says with a grin.

“She said she won’t kill Jesus but he’s still in trouble,” Sophia continues in a singsong voice.

“What did _I_ do?” Paul mutters.

“Got drowned by a fucking elephant seal is my guess,” Daryl says, giving Sophia a one-armed hug on the way inside the house. She kisses his cheek and goes to give Paul a full-body hug. She’s taller than he is and almost as tall as Daryl; looking at her these days never fails to make him feel fucking old. His mind is just incapable of reconciling this leggy young woman with the terrified four-year-old girl he first met fifteen years ago. He knows he'll get the same feeling when he sees the Grimes kids next week; Andre in particular, he was six feet the last time Daryl saw him, a gangly mess of arms and legs that towered over his stepfather and stepbrother.

“Where is your mama?” Daryl asks.

“She’s with Dad and the WTF,” Sophia replies, cheer fading a little, “Robin is sick.”

“Oh no,” Paul says, “babe, let’s leave them to it. I kinda wanted to take some pictures of the bateleur eagle—“

“Don’t be a fucking pussy,” Daryl says. If Carol is pissed at them then it’s better to face the music, hiding just makes it worse.

“Fine,” Paul says with a sigh, “Daryl, let’s drop our stuff on in our room then we can go die like men.”

*******

They're in no rush to "die like men" so they walk instead of taking one of the golf carts to the WTF’s enclosure. They're stopped a few times by confused volunteers, who think they're trespassers until they see their official "Kingdom Nobility" badges. It's a hike to where the WTF live, the Kingdom has over two hundred acres of land, with the Leroy family residence at the center. The WTF are housed near the public entrance; they’re some of the most popular animals that live permanently at the Kingdom. They draw big crowds, especially after _Good Morning Atlanta_ did a nice feature on the history of the Kingdom in general and the WTF in particular a few years ago. Sophia sent Daryl and Paul a link—they watched the interview together hunched over Paul’s laptop while they were on assignment in Alaska. Carol and Ezekiel were interviewed while seated in front of the WTF's cage, the former wearing her fake as fuck Susie Homemaker mask she trots out for public relations. It wavered only a little when Ezekiel described that the Kingdom’s mission was not only to rehabilitate animals: “There are few things more healing for traumatized children than forming a connection with some of the magnificent creatures we are privileged to share this planet with.” Ezekiel wasn’t even looking at his wife to see that little flicker but Daryl noticed that his fingers tightened on Carol’s a little immediately after.

When Daryl and Paul reach the home of the WTF there are no visitors present—this is a rescue and rehabilitation center, not a zoo. The animal enclosures the public can access are only open for a short period a day, the last visitors left over an hours ago. Daryl glances at the sign in front of the WTF’s enclosure, the words registering distantly:  _Meet the WTF! Lupin the wolf, Hobbes the tiger, and Robin the fox were only three months old when they were confiscated at the Atlanta Airport. A black market wildlife trafficker drugged the cubs then shoved them into a trunk to smuggle them through Airport Security. All three were malnourished and in poor health when authorities brought them to the Kingdom._ There’s more information and several high quality shots taken by Daryl himself of the three of them playing together. One is of Robin riding around on Hobbes’ head like a living hat; Sophia likes to send him links to various internet sites that claim the picture is photoshopped; or what she calls “concern trolls” saying the tiger will eat Robin one day and they should be housed separately.

Daryl wonders if people would say that if they could see the way Hobbes is pacing and lashing her tail with agitation as Robin lays crying in the grass surrounded by three humans. Carol, Ezekiel, and Jerry—the Kingdom’s vet tech— look grave as they examine the little red fox. Hobbes has been confined to the lockout cage but Lupin is allowed his freedom. He slinks through the grass in circles around the humans, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end. Daryl whistles at him, the wolf’s ears flick in his direction but his attention is focused on his “little sister”. Carol, however hears him and looks up, “You’re late,” she says in a mild voice. Fuck, she really is planning to kill one or both of them. Their bodies should be easy enough to dispose of out here, just feed them to the big cats and bury whatever’s left somewhere remote.

Jerry and Ezekiel become aware of their presence then and call out distracted, “Hey D, hey Jesus” before turning their attention back to the fox.

“What’s wrong with Robin?” Paul asks, peering into the enclosure.

“Some kind of infection,” Jerry says, face unusually somber, “Gonna have to bring her back to the clinic, your majesties.”

It’s a sign of how concerned she is about Robin (or pissed off at Daryl and Paul) that Carol doesn’t roll her eyes at the nickname, just nods. Ezekiel keeps Lupin occupied while Jerry loads Robin up in a crate and carries her to the golf cart parked just outside the animal pen. Once Carol and Jerry are outside he releases Hobbes from the lockout cage and she bounds out, letting out a low, coughing cry, the same noise Daryl has heard wild tigresses use to summon their cubs. Lupin comes up and licks her face, but she keeps calling, barely noticing Ezekiel as he makes his way out.

“I’m going to call Dr. Naresh,” Ezekiel says, “I don’t want to wait, we’ve done too much of that already.”

“No reason to think it’d get this bad,” Carol replies, accepting the kiss her husband presses against her cheek, “Go; I’ll walk Daryl and Jesus back to the house.”

“If you’re going to kill Daryl don’t feed him to Ravi, he’s got indigestion,” Ezekiel says with a ghost of a smile before climbing onto the golf cart next to Jerry. He waves at them as the cart speeds off.

Carol is quiet, glancing over her shoulder at where Hobbes is still calling out for Robin. Her face spasms and she discretely wipes a tear away with her thumb that both Daryl and Paul pretend not to see.

“If you’re going to kill us do it quickly,” Paul says after a long silence, “And tell us why first, please.”

Carol straightens up and puts her hands on her hips.  She glares at Daryl and says, “What’s this about the two of you getting _married?”_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl found out early on that photography is an expensive hobby to start and even more expensive profession to break into. Especially for someone who grew up as poor as he did, their power turned off more often than not and having to hunt not just for fun but so they wouldn’t starve. He rarely had the money to buy film much less develop it, and he quickly tore through the three rolls of film his Meemaw gave him along with her old Duaflex. The odds were very much against him learning anything about photography, much less making a _career_ —and an unusually successful one at that—out of it. He doesn’t know what he would’ve ended up doing without photography but he does know that he owes single good thing in his life to his chosen career. Daryl knows he would never have made it if he weren’t good, dedicated, and above all stupid lucky. He’s had a lot of lucky breaks over the years but looking back on his life two in particular stand out.

First one was meeting Dr. Greene, a veterinarian and amateur photographer. Hershel liked to go birding on the weekends in the woods near the Dixon family house and would occasionally pay Daryl money in exchange for interesting feathers the boy found. Not much—a quarter or two a feather—but it was something, a tiny stream of revenue that kept him in candy and the occasional comic book. One weekend as Dr. Greene was setting up his camera equipment Daryl lingered, asking him how much some of it cost, if he knew of a cheaper way to develop film. Eventually Daryl ended up telling his old man about the rolls of undeveloped film that were kept under his bed in his little shoebox full of treasures. Dr. Greene offered to send the rolls of film in with his own, explaining that he got cheaper rates since he had so many.

“You’re going to owe me quite a few feathers,” Hershel said, smiling with that kindly twinkle in his eye.

“Yessir, bring you all you want, won’t charge nothing,” Daryl said quickly, giving up his candies and comics without a second thought. He hurried home to fetch the precious three rolls of film, and for the next several weeks could barely contain his excitement and nerves, wondering if any of the pictures came out and what they looked like.Finally on a bright Saturday morning he came across Dr. Greene in his usual birding spot, and the man said he had something for Daryl. Something being a canvas bag too heavy to just be his developed pictures.

“What’s this?” Daryl asked, suspicious. He’d learned early on adults were not his friends and their gifts usually came with strings attached.

“Take a look,” Dr. Greene said, smiling.

When Daryl cautiously peered inside he found three envelops containing his developed photos on top, and underneath that a case that held a camera that looked a good deal fancier and more expensive than the one his Meemaw gave him. He glanced at Dr. Greene all suspicion and wariness, and the older man’s smile faded.

“That’s a Nikon F1,” Dr. Greene said, “That one’s about ten years old, but it still works. It’s been gathering dust ever since I upgraded to the F3. Thought you’d like to have it.”

“Why?” Daryl asked, pulling away from the canvas bag and Dr. Greene’s old camera.

“Because you’ve got a gift, son, and one hell of an eye,” Dr. Green said, “I don’t need that old thing, it’s all yours. Pay me back by taking me some pictures of any birds you see out here.”

Daryl still has Dr. Greene’s Nikon F1 and values it even more than the professional Nikon D4S he uses in the field and set him back over five thousand dollars. He also still has the battered copy of _The Beginner’s Guide to Outdoor Photography_ that Dr. Greene gifted him on another occasion.

Lucky break number two was the Peletier wedding. Daryl was twenty years old, broke as fuck, and subsisting on the occasional odd job that earned him just enough to keep his lights on after he spent the lion’s share on film and any other equipment he could scrape up. Merle gave him endless amounts of shit for wasting his money but Daryl kept at it. No matter how much Merle dogged him the sheer pleasure and _rightness_ he felt after capturing the perfect image after days and weeks of getting nothing outweighed it all. The only comparable feeling wouldn’t come for another sixteen years while he was laying in a bed in Christchurch with Paul Rovia’s head resting against his shoulder.

At twenty Daryl was starting to cautiously dream of actually supporting himself with photography. He’d even _sold_ some pictures for peanuts to a few regional magazines aimed at hunters and outdoorsmen—several shots of his friends posed over their kills; the woods at sunset with the outline of a deer in the shadows of a clump of trees; and trout leaping out of a clear mountain stream. In his room tucked away with his old copies of _Aperture_ purchased at various library sales over the years was a brochure for continuing education courses offered by North Georgia College over in Dahlonega. There was one for a Professional Photographer Certification course and Daryl thought he could actually afford them. Seven courses total, each ranging from fifty to one hundred bucks, money he did not have but was feasible to obtain.

Enter Ed Peletier, a hunting buddy of Merle’s and occasionally Daryl. One weekend the guy started bitching about his upcoming wedding, his bride-to-be wanted to hire an actual photographer. “Cheapest one I could find still cost a thousand bucks! For a couple _pictures_!” Ed ranted, “ _Shit._ The little lady is goin’ to have to learn to adjust her expectations, or I’ll adjust ‘em for her.”

Despite how things ended up with Merle and how much his brother mocked Daryl’s “faggy artsy bullshit” he still owed him, because Merle was the one to say, “My sweet baby brother will do it for half that. He ain’t a professional, but he’s sold his shit to magazines before.”

Shooting a wedding had never occurred to Daryl before then and the thought made him want to gauge out his eyes but five hundred bucks was five hundred bucks. So a few months later Daryl spent six hours at the Sunnycrest Baptist Church photographing the ceremony between the happy couple of Ed Peletier and Carol Samuels. Daryl and Carol didn’t exactly start out on the right foot or think much of the other. Carol had wanted a _professional_ photographer, not the kid brother of one of her new husband’s drinking buddies who showed up at the wedding in jeans dragging a motley assortment of outdated camera equipment. Carol had this fake way of smiling at him that made his blood boil, the only thing that helped him ignore her was the thought of Ed’s promised money. If someone had told him that in the future this shy woman with curly red-brown hair and thin-lipped smile would be one of the most important people in the entire world to him Daryl wouldn’t have believed it.

He _might_ have believed it a few weeks later when he met with Carol in the rec center of the same church to show her the contact prints of the photos he’d taken. As she paged slowly through them the strangest look came over her face, her wide blue eyes glittering with some emotion Daryl couldn’t identify, not then. “My goodness,” she whispered after several long moments of silence, “These are so beautiful.”

Daryl fidgeted at the compliment and the sincerity with which she gave it, “Thanks. Let me know which ones you want to order, one 4”x6” is free, but any other size or duplicates cost me extra to print up.” He quoted her the price for each size, and after sifting through the photos again she had picked out the collection she wanted. She shook his hand and gave him a smile so sweet he was startled. He’d shot dozens of pictures of this woman on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life and never saw a single smile like that.

Daryl was young, dumb, and Ed was Merle’s buddy so he let the guy pay half up front and the rest upon delivery of the pictures themselves. He also didn’t get anything in writing and made the mistake of delivering the photos to Ed instead of Carol. He should’ve seen Ed’s response to Daryl saying it’d be three hundred even coming.

“I know thinkin’s not a Dixon strong suit, but half of five hundred is two fifty,” Ed spat, face darkening with rage.

Daryl felt his own face flush, “I know that; I told you to start with five and if’n you wanted more prints then it’d cost extra.”

“Fifty bucks worth of _pictures?_ ” Ed sneered, “That’s some bullshit!”

“Talk to your missus, then,” Daryl said, starting to lose his cool, “She’s the one what placed the order.”

“You should’ve known better than to listen to that dippy cunt,” Ed muttered, “I’ll give you the two-fifty, take it or leave it.”

“You give me two-fifty all’s your getting is the original prints,” Daryl snarled, _and maybe an ass beating._

“Fine by me. Do whatever you want with ‘em. Use ‘em to wipe your ass for all I care.”

Wiping his ass was all those prints were good for as far as Daryl was concerned; it’d cost him _money_ to get them developed. He considered beating Ed’s ass until he agreed to the full three hundred but decided fuck it, he’d take what he could get from this tub of shit.

The next day there was a knock on the door, and Carol Peletier was there with a casserole and wearing long sleeves even though it was a warm day.

“May I come in? I want to apologize,” she said, eyes soft and contrite, “I should have cleared it with Ed before I asked for the extra pictures.”

“It’s fine,” Daryl muttered, taking the dish from her awkwardly.

“It’s not,” she said, digging through her pocket book, “You said it cost you money to print the extras out. Here, I’m not sure how much your markup is, but I can give you twenty, that’s all I have on me—“

“Nah,” Daryl said quickly, his anger fading. Her eyes were wide and haunted, and he thought about what Ed had told Merle about needing to adjust his wife’s expectations.

“I _insist,_ ” Carol said, finally fishing out two crisp ten dollar bills, “You deserve to be paid for your work.”

“It ain’t necessary—“

“ _Take. It,”_ she said, a flash of _something_ in her eyes. Years later he would think that was the real Carol, and it was maybe the first time he ever saw it. The real Carol wasn’t ready to come out yet, she was still in the process of _forming_ and it would take a decade of marriage to her piece of shit husband for that Carol to be born.

Daryl shifted the casserole dish to free up a hand totake the offered money. The tips of his ears were burning and he felt like an asshole, “Thanks,” he muttered. Then to make himself feel better, “I ain’t got much use for the prints, if you want any of ‘em—“

“No, I didn’t pay for them,” she said.

“You paid for _some_ of ‘em,” he said, “Take half and let’s call it square.”

She shook her head and murmured, “Ed would wonder how I got them. It’s ok. I need to get to the rest of my errands. Cook that,” she gestured at the casserole balanced on Daryl’s forearm, “at four hundred degrees for about half hour, then take the cover off and do it for another ten or fifteen minutes. You don’t need to return the dish.”

Despite how ugly it turned out Daryl was able to use the proceeds from the Peletier wedding to sign up for his first two classes North Georgia, and when he finished those his professor was so taken by him she helped Daryl acquire funds to finish. Daryl doesn’t think he would have ever made it as a professional photographer without those courses—mostly for the connections and advice he got from his professors. He owed all that to Carol Peletier wanting a real photographer for her wedding, a debt that he’d never be able to repay. He wouldn’t see her for another ten years and she would just keep adding to that debt.

***********

In the first decade of his career Daryl took any job that would pay him, including more weddings despite how much he fucking hated to do them. Thankfully by the time he was hired by _Outdoor Georgia_ to shoot for a feature on a tiger sanctuary near Atlanta Daryl hadn’t needed to take a wedding job in years. He was working steadily and almost exclusively in wildlife. Most of his clients were regional publications like _Outdoor Georgia_ but he was starting to get regular bookings with the bigger fish like _Field and Stream, Outdoor Photographer, Smithsonian,_ and even came close to landing a job with the holiest of holies— _National Geographic._

 _Outdoor Georgia_ didn’t pay much but the Kingdom shoot sounded like a fun and easy assignment. He met Andrea Holder, the freelance writer who’d pitched the Kingdom story, at the Kingdom’s entrance.

“Thanks for referring me for this,” Daryl grumbled at her. He’d teamed-up with her a few times before, and after a rocky start they discovered they worked well together. She’d even asked him out for a drink once which he politely declined. 

“Any time,” she said, “Just remember me when you land a job with Nat Geo.”

“Best knock on wood before you jinx me,” Daryl said, checking his equipment, “Ain’t never heard of this place.”

“It hasn’t been open long, but the guy who runs it is interesting—“

“My friends!” a voice boomed as they walked through the gates, “It pleases me to see that you have arrived safely! I know that the path to the Kingdom can be daunting. Welcome! I am King Ezekiel.”

The guy approaching them with an outstretched hand was a handsome black guy a year or two younger than Daryl and dressed in an honest-to-god purple robe with a crown on his head an a scepter in his hand. He was surrounded by a small entourage of volunteers dressed in shorts and wearing caps with The Kingdom’s logo on the front. Daryl traded a look with Andrea as they shook “King” Ezekiel’s hand skeptically.

“Your majesty,” one of the volunteers said, “do you need any further assistance?”

“No Carlos, I thank you. I can show these good people our realm unattended.”

********

To Daryl’s relief Ezekiel dropped the King act once the volunteers were out of sight, and he turned out to be a pretty cool guy despite having irritating amounts of zeal and energy. Daryl followed Andrea and Ezekiel through the Kingdom snapping pictures while the latter told introduced them to some of the tigers and told them his life story.

“Inherited the farm from my Uncle Saul,” Ezekiel said, “Never was much of a farmer but I loved the animals. One day I drove past this shitty roadside zoo on a drive down to Florida and I saw her. My girl.”

They reached a prominent enclosure at the heart of the Kingdom, a large, wooded space with a playhouse in the center that looked like a medieval castle. In front was a sign that read _Shiva’s Kingdom._ Ezekiel stepped over the barricade and headed straight for the cage’s gate, ““Come and meet my baby girl. One who started it all.” As soon as Ezekiel turned the key in the lock that opened the outer gate his “baby girl” sprang out of her castle-shaped clubhouse. The “baby girl” was one of the biggest tigers Daryl had ever fucking seen, and he’d seen more than most.

“Shivaaaa,” Ezekiel said, drawing the last syllable out in a low, booming voice. The tiger froze, tail lashing. Ezekiel gave them a mischievous look, “Either of you want to come inside?”

“Hell yeah,” Daryl said, practically running. Andrea demurred, choosing to stay outside and ask her questions through the fence while Daryl set up his equipment. Shiva was _gorgeous—_ it’s almost impossible to find a tiger that isn’t—but she was a particularly stunning example of her species. She was also absurdly friendly—leaping up to balance her paws on Ezekiel’s shoulders and rubbing her massive head against his face like an overgrown cat. Daryl had the privilege of photographing wild tigers once before, creeping as close as he dared, still nowhere near as this.

“She’s amazing,” Andrea said from outside, “What kind of tiger is she?” Daryl was glad she asked, he was curious about that as well. Shiva was too big to be a Bengal and her fur was too dark to be a Siberian.

“Don’t know,” Ezekiel said as Shiva rolled over on her back in front of Daryl, paws in the air. “Thought of getting her DNA tested, but right now money for that could be spent elsewhere.” Ezekiel reached out and rubbed her belly, making her squirm in delight, tail lashing. “She was just an itty bitty thing when I first saw her. Sitting in a cage, crying, one of her legs bleeding from sores because the guy that ran the place used to tie her down,” his voice trembled and he wiped his eyes, “The people that breed tigers to sell as exotic pets or roadside attractions get around endangered species laws by cross breeding different subspecies. They’re mutts, so useless for conservation purposes. They charge people money to pet them as cubs, and when they're too old for that dispose of them. Did you know there are more tigers kept in the United States as pets than are left in the wild?” 

Daryl photographed Shiva as Ezekiel discussed the Kingdom’s mission with Andrea. A place to rehabilitate these magnificent animals and advocate for stronger laws governing their ownership; to create bonds of respect between animals and people, particularly the children. “That’s the one thing about all those shitty roadside zoos, and even legit zoos,” Ezekiel explained, “The looks I saw on some of those kids’ faces when they saw some of the animals for the first time. I wanted a place I could show kids how to respect these animals instead of just gawping at them for entertainment. Get to _know_ them, their stories. Few years ago I had a bunch of kids come visit from a group home, kids who had it _rough_ , and the way they responded when they found out what these animals went through…”

Daryl listened with half an ear before they moved on, Andrea asking questions and taking notes, Daryl shooting every tiger Ezekiel had to show them. He wasn’t able to get in a cage with any others; Shiva was an exception. “We try to minimize contact as much as possible,” Ezekiel said, “Least with these guys. There’s a petting zoo by the playgrounds where the littles can meet your standard farm animals. I don’t tell them the cute baby pigs we raise get fed to the tigers when they grow up.”

Andrea wanted photos of the petting zoo as well, which Ezekiel was happy to show off. It was a cheerful red barn surrounded by another troop of volunteers that were wrangling the visitors. Mostly stay-at-home moms and children under five who shrieked with delight as Ezekiel boomed out his greetings.

“Your majesty,” one of the volunteers said in voice that was chipper yet still imbued the words with vast amounts of sarcasm as she gave Ezekiel a half bow.

Ezekiel froze, “Oh. Um. Hi Carol, I didn’t know you were coming in today…I would’ve…” the guy trailed off in an undignified stutter before recovering, “My friends!” he boomed to Andrea and Daryl, “Meet Carol Samuels, my volunteer coordinator. We’d be lost without her guidance.”

Carol was wearing the standard issue Kingdom volunteer cap over her face but even if she weren’t it still would have taken Daryl a minute to recognize her. She was so thin she looked ill, her pretty reddish-brown hair was shot with gray and was cropped close to her skull. She was frowning at Daryl with confusion, corners of her mouth tight. Then her eyes widened and she blinked rapidly as she recognized him. She went white to her lips and her blue eyes darted around as though anticipating a fight.

Andrea didn’t notice her reaction but Ezekiel did, frowning in her direction. Before he could say anything Carol slapped on her fake Susie Homemaker smile and said cheerfully, “Oh shush, you. I make cookies and print out sign-up sheets. Just happy to help.” She quietly demurred when Andrea asked if she minded answering a few questions with all the appearances of excessive modesty. “Your majesty,” she said in a sickly sweet voice, “Sophia and I just popped in for a minute, we’ll be going now.”

“Ok,” he said, looking from her to Daryl with hard eyes, “Let me know if you need something.”

“Do you mind showing me some of the kids’ favorite animals?” Daryl blurted out.

“I would be pleased to do so myself,” Ezekiel said, shoulders going up, “Carol, if you must needs be on your way—.

Carol studied Daryl’s face for a split second before she said, “I’d be happy to. Why don’t you finish up with this nice young lady?”

Ezekiel reluctantly allowed Carol to lead Daryl off. She took him outside the barn to where a magnificent chestnut stallion with striped legs was prancing in a paddock.

“This is Buttons, he's a zorse. Zebra/horse hybrid,” Carol said in that chipper voice with that sweet smile. Most people wouldn’t have caught just how terrified Carol was, but it was the sort of fear Daryl recognized all too well. Daryl, his mama, and his older brother all lived with it when daddy was alive.

“He’s the most popular animal?”

“To look at, but not pet. He’s a fucking asshole,” Carol said, her bashful housewife mask fading in an instant to be replaced by something hard and watchful. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Carol Samuels again,” Daryl said, “You and Ed split up?”

“Last year,” she replied tightly.

“Good, he was an asshole as I recall,” Daryl said, “When you saw me you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

She let out a long breath, “Ed doesn’t know where we are, and I’d like to keep it that way. What’s it going to take for you to forget you saw me? Especially if your brother asks?”

Daryl studied her for a long time—the pinched fear of her eyes, the way she seemed to be watching and waiting for some shit to start. He thought back to the last time he saw her, offering him twenty dollars to compensate for the money he spent ordering her pictures. Long sleeves even in the middle of summer. “Don’t worry none about that,” Daryl said quietly, “Even if we was still talking I wouldn’t say nothing to Merle that’d get back to your asshole husband, and we ain’t spoken in more’n five years.”

She studied him, eyes defrosting slowly, “I’m surprised to hear that. Thought the Dixon brothers were ride or die.”

“Ed didn’t tell you?”

“I stopped paying attention to Ed’s bullshit hunter talk after awhile. Had more important things to worry about.”

Daryl dropped his eyes, “He might not’ve mentioned it to Ed, come to think of it.” He looked back into her eyes, and on impulse decided to tell her the truth, thinking vaguely it might make her relax if she knew he had no reasons to buddy up with the old crowd, “Me'n Merle got into it when he found out I’m gay.”

Her expression startled a laugh out of him, which made her laugh in turn. Her cautious watchfulness didn’t go away but it was less intense, “I have to say that’s the last thing I expected to hear from you. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with…”

“No worries,” Daryl said, “Merle…” Daryl sighed; it still hurt. “Well, he does think there’s something wrong with it. We traded words and more, it got pretty fucking ugly.” He didn’t tell her the rest, that for a minute Daryl was certain Merle was going to actually kill him.

He didn’t like thinking about that at all.

The last of Carol’s wariness faded to be replaced with something soft and understanding, “I can imagine.” She turned away toward Buttons the horse, “Things got ugly with Ed too.”

“I can imagine,” Daryl repeated back to her.

She gave a tired smile, “Yeah, I’m sure you can.”

“Was it just you, or did you have kids?”

“A daughter. Sophia, she’s four. Only good thing Ed Peletier ever gave me.” She closed her eyes and sighed, “What about you? I’m glad you’re still taking pictures, you were so good at it.”

“I am,” Daryl said, “Don’t do weddings no more, thank god. Haven’t in years, you couldn’t pay me enough to deal with that shit again. Rather face a wild tiger.”

“If you’re talking about Shiva she’s a cream puff,” Carol said, the corners of her lips quirking with affection.

“If you say so,” Daryl answered, “Look, I’m going to head back inside, ok? I just wanted to clear the air since you got so spooked. I’m glad you and your little one got away,” he paused, “I…I dunno what you know ‘bout me and Merle, how we grew up, but…I’m real glad you got her away.” Carol looked like she was going to cry at that clumsy pronouncement. On impulse he fished out one of his business cards from the case in his pocket, “I ain’t at home much these days, but if you need somethin’ give me a call, all right? I really owe you for that wedding job.”

“I owe _you_ still, about thirty dollars,” Carol said, but she plucked the card out of his hand anyway and smiled while she did it.

*************

Fifteen years later Daryl’s standing at almost the exact same spot at the Kingdom getting the mother of all death glares from Carol. In that time span the Kingdom has gone from a thirty-something acre farm that had two dozen big cats—mostly tigers—to its current two-hundred acres and seven hundred animals. The focus is still on the cats but there is a small number of bears, wolves, foxes, and monkeys. There is a also a _large_ number of birds, reptiles, and small mammals in addition to the standard horses, goats, sheep, and pigs found on your average farm. He thinks that’s nothing compared to the change in Carol. That terrified mouse he met at her first wedding is long gone and there’s a tigress in her place.

“If it helps,” Paul blurts out, “We only got married to save some money on car insurance.” Daryl considers strangling him.

“We was gonna tell ya,” Daryl interjects, “just…a bunch of stuff came up first.”

“Yeah,” Paul says, “I mean, I died, and rose after about three minutes instead of three days—“

“You didn’t die,” Daryl snaps, “you still had a pulse.” The incident with the elephant seal happened two months ago and it’s too soon for Daryl to be cavalier about it.

“Close enough,” Paul says, “Anyway, we had to head out again almost as soon as we got back from that little adventure. We’re still kind of shook up over it…” he trails off, finally getting the message he’s making things worse.

“You two wouldn’t have even met if it wasn’t for me,” she says, refusing for once to be charmed by Paul. She’s absolutely right, if it weren’t for her and Ezekiel’s help he would never have made it to the ice, never would have met that cocky little shit at McMurdo Station. And if it weren’t for Carol’s gentle encouragement Daryl might have even let Paul _go_ when they left the ice. He can never, ever, _ever_ repay her for that. She’s been quietly campaigning for Daryl to “make an honest man out of Paul” since before it’d even been legal in the state of Georgia. She has some strong ideas about marriage as a sacred institution between two people in love; having experienced everything ugly and terrible about it with her firstbut everything beautiful and good with her second. So of course she’s pissed at them both that not only did they get married after all this time without telling her they did it to save a few hundred bucks on insurance.

He and Paul are going to have to do _so_ much groveling this Christmas to make it up to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This grew longer than I anticipated. Should need at least one more chapter to wrap things up.


	3. Chapter 3

The Kingdom has a small permanent staff mostly for admin stuff but the bulk of the real work is done by volunteers. This is fine for the most part, they typically have more people that want to help than they have spaces. They average about ninety volunteers a year, that plus a team of interns that are paid in college credits and lodging is usually enough to keep everything running smoothly. The holiday season is an exception—Christmas is a _big_ deal at the Kingdom. All hands are needed on deck at a time of year when most people have to call off and spend time with their families, and everyone is overworked and tired. As part of their groveling Daryl and Paul offer to fill in some volunteer gaps leading up to Christmas day and if the way Carol smiles is any indication this is just as planned.

The Kingdom volunteers are divided loosely into three groups—serfs, beginners who do the less fun stuff like food processing and cleaning out the visitor center; heralds, who lead tours and work in outreach; and the knights, senior volunteers who work closely with the animals. "Kingdom Gentry" are the normal staff and "Kingdom Nobility" are the veterinary staff and people like Daryl and Paul who don't need any supervision to work with the animals. Kingdom Royalty is the Leroy family. Carol puts Daryl in charge of the knights for the days leading up to Christmas, which _sounds_ glamorous and probably is to a lot of folks less experienced with wildlife. There are masses of people happy to pick up tiger shit for hours just for the privilege of getting up close to these animals. Daryl isn’t exactly _bored_ by the inhabitants of the Kingdom—he thinks there’s something profoundly wrong with a person if they can be _bored_ looking at a tiger or a wolf or any other exotic. It’s just at this point in his life he sees animals like this in the wild and there’s no comparison; he doesn’t get the same rush seeing them in cages that he gets when he spots an elusive species after days or weeks tracking it through the field. On top of that the Kingdom animals are old friends and he sees them regularly without having to pick up their shit or deal with the gaggle of volunteers who are weirdly starstruck by him. As he uses a pair of salad tongs to scoop up watery piles of tiger shit from Ravi’s cage—Ezekiel wasn’t just whistling Dixie when he said the tiger had indigestion—he reflects that despite everything it could be so much worse; if Carol were feeling _truly_ unforgiving should would have made him wear the elf costume instead of Paul.

There are a small number of exotics—ones that are old or particularly mellow—whose enclosures are opened for free every day along with the domestic farm animals that make up the petting zoo. The majority can only be viewed in special tours that cost anywhere from thirty dollars to one hundred and thirty. Except during the month of December—the early morning kids’ tours are free to anyone who can show them a current SNAP benefits card. The first half of Christmas Eve day is the money shot—the kids get to spend an hour as “Santa’s helpers” making papier-mâché toys for animal enrichment then get a free tour that is led by Santa Claus himself (Ezekiel hamming it up in costume) who tosses the toys into the cages and the littles can watch the cats flip out over them. Afterward there’s a special feast in the visitors’ center provided by Mrs. Claus (Carol, who has an inner ham that rivals her husband’s) while Santa and his elves hand out human toys to the kids. The second half of the day is open to anyone who can buy a ticket and is much less elaborate—the kids can meet Santa and his reindeer after their tour and get a special “Christmas at the Kingdom” ornament. Despite how much less work goes into the second half of the day the volunteers hate it; paying customers have higher rates of assholes _especially_ around the holidays. It's good for everyone involved that Daryl is far away from the visitors center during that part of the day.

A few hours before feeding time and the end of his volunteer shift Daryl’s taking a break in front of Kali’s cage. She's hiding from him at the moment; but Daryl is patient and it's one of the few places he can go to escape the attentions of the knights. Kali is one of four animals in the Kingdom that are off limits to everyone except for Ezekiel, Carol, Jerry, Dr. Naresh, and—whenever they’re in town—Paul and Daryl.

Which why he's surprised when Sophia joins him a few minutes into his break. “Your Dad finally let you come back here?” Daryl asks her, smiling a little when he takes in what she's wearing. It's a blue Snow Maiden costume with an elaborate snowflake crown, and when Daryl looks at her he can’t help but see the little girl running through the Kingdom in her princess dresses.

“Eighteenth birthday present,” she says proudly, “Thank god, I need to get away for a bit. If I hear one more brat complaining that Santa’s black I’m gonna start throwing buckets of hamburger at them then unlocking the tiger cages, starting with this one.”

“Kids can be dumb about shit like that,” Daryl says, “Give ‘em a chance to learn before you sic Kali on ‘em.” Kali’s an exception to the general familiarity Daryl feels for the Kingdom animals. No tiger is “tame”, not even Shiva had been, but Kali is particularly unpredictable. There’s just something about her that screams out that she’s a wild thing and only tolerates his existence because she can’t be bothered to climb over the fence to get rid of him.

Daryl _adores_ her.

“I’m not talking about the kids,” Sophia grumbles, “I’m talking about their moms with their ‘may I please speak to the manager’ haircuts. The kids just accept it when Dad says that Santa looks different every time he leaves the North Pole because of magic.”

“Ok, that’s fair, I'll help you toss the hamburger,” Daryl agrees. As if they’ve summoned her this is the moment Kali chooses to reveal herself, slinking slowly out of her hiding space behind a rock pile. “Hey there, beautiful,” Daryl murmurs. In her jaws is the bloody head of the deer Daryl presented to her last night.  When he looks at Sophia she’s smiling in a way that makes him think she’s imagining it’s the head of whatever mom is giving her grief. She looks a _lot_ like Carol in that moment.

When his volunteer shift is over Daryl is exhausted, thinking only of laying down for a nap as he lugs his cleaning buckets and trash bags full of animal crap back to the dumpsters by the cleaning sheds. Once he's put his equipment away he heads to the volunteer trailer next so he can log his cleaning notes then sign off on the knights’ time sheets. As he walks past the visitors center he run into Paul who has just managed to escape out the back door. Daryl looks him up and down and starts laughing.

“Are you going to do this every time?” Paul asks with a sigh when Daryl gets himself under control.

“Lemme think,” Daryl replies, considering the sight of his husband in the elf costume. All of the costumes at the Kingdom are high quality, Ezekiel wouldn’t be caught dead wearing some cheap shit from Party City or the like. This one is no exception and fits Paul so well that Daryl _knows_ Carol’s been planning this ever since she heard about their illicit wedding. A faux-suede green jacket with white fur trim over bright yellow tights, shoes with toes that curl up at the end, and a pointed Peter Pan-style hat. It’s apparently from a movie that Daryl’s never seen so there’s also a curly wig that matches the character’s; paired with his beard it makes Paul look a little like Bob Ross.

Daryl starts laughing again.

Paul tries to maintain his glare but starts laughing too, “Yeah, yeah, get it out.”

Daryl’s still snickering as they make their way to the volunteer trailer. As they walk Paul removes the pointed hat and wig. His real hair is in a tight bun and damp with sweat. Daryl’s snickers trail off when he undoes the tie and shakes his hair loose. It’s getting _long;_ Paul usually keeps his hair just long enough to pull back into a little ponytail but it’s well past his shoulders now. He removes the green jacket next, all he has on beneath it is a black sleeveless undershirt that reveals his muscular arms. Without the coat Daryl can see just how little the tights leave to the imagination.

Daryl slams to a halt and grows out, “I really fucking hate you.” It’s not fucking fair that Paul can look that good while wearing stupid yellow tights, it’s not fucking fair that after ten years of seeing him naked _regularly_ Daryl still gets flustered sometimes when he sees him.

“What?” Paul says, looking over his shoulder at where Daryl is rooted to the spot a few feet behind him with flaming cheeks. He glances down at the tights and says, “ _Seriously?”_

“Fuck you,” Daryl mutters.

Paul gives him an exaggerated leer, “I can ask Ezekiel where he bought them. Do you want me to put the hat back on?”

“Only thing I want’s a divorce.”

“Does it help if I say the whole ‘rugged stable boy’ look you’re rocking is really doing it for me right now?”

“Not really,” Daryl replies, “Divorce is still on; I get the cabin and Aaron on the weekends.”

Paul laughs again and saunters back to him. No one should be able to saunter in elf shoes but somehow Paul Rovia can. Daryl really hates him. He stops about six inches from Daryl, looking up at him from beneath half-closed eyes, “Surely there’s something I can do to change your mind?” his nose wrinkles, “When you smell less like tiger shit, that is.”

“Maybe. Gonna need something right now though, as a down payment.”

“Yeah?” Paul says, smile widening.

“Yeah,” Daryl says bending down a little place a few soft kisses against the corner of Paul’s mouth. Their lips are the only thing touching, Daryl maintains that careful distance so not to get the other man dirty. Somehow the whole _not_ touching thing is more exciting, especially when Paul tilts his head and opens his mouth, licking the seams of Daryl’s lips. It makes him sigh involuntarily, and Paul takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Daryl’s mouth. Paul tastes like peppermint, he’s been sneaking candy canes out of Santa’s bag. What was meant to be a quick kiss turns into something unexpectedly dirty as they move their mouths against one another. Daryl’s washed his hands so he takes the opportunity to grab Paul’s tight little butt and give it a squeeze, something that just makes Paul snort out a laugh against his mouth.

“Oh my goodness!” a voice squawks out with the same effect as a bucket of water. Paul jumps away, wiping his lips as Daryl turns, expecting to see one of the volunteers. Instead there’s an unfamiliar woman with what Sophia would call a “may I speak to the manager” haircut. She’s with two little boys and has her hands clapped over their eyes.

“This area’s closed to visitors,” Daryl snaps, wondering where the hell they came from. This section of the path isalmost all the way to the volunteer trailer and _nobody_ is allowed back here unless they work for the Kingdom in some capacity, especially two little kids that would make perfect tiger chow. 

“Yeah,” Paul says, sounding out of breath, “Authorized personnel only. I can show you back to the visitors center—“

“I’m sure we can find our way back!” the woman says, her lips puckered into a shape like a cat’s asshole.

Before Daryl can say that there’s no way in hell he’s going to let these people wonder around unattended a volunteer in an elf hat and a serf’s shirt comes barreling down the path red-faced and says, “Ma’am, ma’am, this area is _strictly_ forbidden—“ The volunteer shoots Daryl and Paul the panicked look of someone who knows she’s gonna get her ass chewed out by her coordinator later—maybe even by Carol herself—as she escorts the woman and her kids back where they belong.

When they’re gone Daryl meets Paul’s eyes and they both crack up.

*******************

There’s a small mother-in-law suite on the main floor of the house that’s theirs whenever they stay with the Leroy family. Daryl used to actually live there in the distant days he thought of as Before Paul. Daryl was “home” even less in those days, maybe only a month in total for the entire year, and jumped at the chance to get rid of his storage unit and say goodbye to extended stay hotels. During the rare times of the year he wasn't on assignment he earned his keep by volunteering, babysitting Sophia, and donating his photography skills. His room hasn't changed much since those days--Carol's put some new furniture in, added a few more bookshelves to store the overflow from her and Ezekiel's office. 

Daryl jumps into the shower first thing when they get back and after a few minutes when he’s sufficiently clean Paul joins him. They finish what they started out behind the visitor center and afterward they’re so tired and sated they can barely pull on their pajama bottoms before collapsing into bed.

“I always feel like I’m in your parents’ house or something when we do that here,” Paul murmurs.

Daryl snorts, “Don’t let Carol hear you call her my mom.”

“I’m not suicidal. Besides that’s not _quite_ what I meant,” Paul replies, eyelids sliding closed.

“You gonna sleep? We should probably make an appearance first.” Daryl says, feeling his own eyelids grow heavy. Ezekiel, Carol, and Sophia are usually too tired Christmas Eve to do anything but eat leftovers from the Kingdom feast and watch movies in their PJs. Daryl and Paul’s presence isn’t _required_ but it is encouraged.

“Just resting my eyes,” Paul says, and less than a minute later his breathing evens out into sleep. Daryl fights it for a few minutes longer before drifting off himself.

Daryl awakes with a start a few hours later, the bitter taste of adrenaline still in his mouth. He’s never been able to sleep well and since Big Sur he’s been plagued off and on by nightmares. He glances at the digital alarm clock by the bed—it’s 1:17 AM. Paul’s still out cold, wrapped up like a burrito in the blankets. Daryl curls around his back and kisses his cheek, holding him until his heart rate slows and the last of the dream fades.

The digital clock reads 2:01 when Daryl finally accepts he won’t get any more sleep that night and gets out of bed. He goes to where their suitcase is open on the floor at the foot of the bed (they need to unpack before Carol sneaks in and does it for them, he feels guilty enough already) then blindly grabs a t-shirt. He pulls it on and the tightness in the shoulders means he’s grabbed one of Paul’s, in his current mood that’s comforting so he doesn’t bother hunting down another. When he slips quietly out of the bedroom into the light of the hallway he looks down and sees he's right about it being Paul's shirt, “Great Lakes Wrecking Crew” is printed over a drawing of a scuba diver exploring a shipwreck.

Daryl pads down to the kitchen and grabs a beer out of the fridge. He twists off the cap and takes a swig then heads for the living room where he is unsurprised to see that the lights are on. He's equally unsurprised to see Carol curled up on the love seat with a photo album in her lap and sipping a glass of wine, she slept even worse than he did.

“You can’t sleep either,” she says when she looks up and sees him; less a question and more a statement of fact.

Daryl nods, “Bad dreams. You?”

“Same,” she replies, shifting a little to make some room for him on the love seat. When he sits down he sees that it’s not just any photo album she has out—it’s the white leather-bound book from her wedding to Ezekiel. He raises his eyebrows in a question and she says, “Just wanted to take a look and remember what’s real.”

“What’d you dream about?” Daryl asks, knowing it must be awful if she needed to look at this album in particular. 

“Zombies, they ate Sophia then Shiva. One took off its skin and Ed was under there. Negan was also there and smashed your face in that his stupid fucking bat of his.”

“Fucking hell, girl,” Daryl mutters when she mentions Negan, “That asshole still going after you?” Negan owns an animal “rescue” called The Sanctuary in Virginia. It’s actually a privately owned zoo where the fucker breeds tigers and other exotics for profit. That's scummy enough but in addition to that his abuse of his animals is well-documented; and a group of wildlife advocates led by Ezekiel and Carol have been trying to get him shut down for years. So far it's been unsuccessful despite several losses on his side; he’s like a fucking cockroach. For whatever reason--general misogyny, being too scared to stand up to someone like Rick Grimes, whatever-- he’s zeroed in on Carol as his main tormenter. Negan's posted several dozen angry rants on youtube where he does everything from curse her out to bashing in the heads of dummies dressed like her with a baseball bat he’s named “Lucille”. Daryl would dearly love to punch the guy in the fucking face but he knows that'd just make things worse. 

“He’s going to go after me until he’s behind bars,” Carol says with a shrug, “He’s not the only one; I’m glad he lets his lunatic flag fly for the world to see.”

Daryl doesn’t know that he feels the same way, “Do you need any help? Me ’n Paul can cancel that job next month—“

“We’ve got it covered.”

“Guy’s unhinged,” Daryl mutters, “I think he’d actually hurt someone if he could get away with it.”

“I don’t think that, I know it, and so do you,” Carol says, “I’m still not afraid of him. We actually haven’t heard much from him lately, thank god. Just the occasional bad dream. What about you? What were your dreams?”

Daryl takes a swig of beer and says, “Combo of Big Sur with what happened with Merle.” His voice is a whisper when he says his brother’s name. He doesn’t give Carol any details of the dream, he doesn’t want to dwell on them. Just flashes of dragging his brother’s blue-lipped corpse out of the ocean and giving Paul CPR while he’s naked on a slab in the Lumpkin county morgue. Daryl’s glad he made peace with his brother before Merle OD’d and that he was stateside and could identify the body plus make funeral arrangements. Still, two years later a part of him doesn’t know if made the whole thing better or worse than if they weren’t talking when it happened.

“Oh, Pookie,” Carol whispers and takes his hand.

After a long silence Daryl says, “Must’ve stopped being mad at me if you’re calling me that,” with a forced smile.

“You know I can’t stay mad at you, especially when your better half spent all day as my bitch without complaint.”

Daryl huffs out a laugh that's actually genuine, “He _is_ sorry.” He fiddles with the label of his beer bottle, peeling off a little strip, “We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Don’t change nothing, really.”

Carol glances down to where her wedding album is opened to a picture of her with Ezekiel and Sophia. Her new husband is holding their sleeping daughter in one arm and pulling her in for a kiss with the other. They’re both laughing, and Daryl is struck by how young she looks, even with her ever-widening streaks of silver hair. “It doesn’t?” she asks, looking him in the eye. When he doesn't answer she continues, “You don’t need to give me the speech about how it’s only a piece of paper. Just tell me honestly that’s the real reason, and not that both of you still think something bad will happen if you let yourselves be happy. Or that you're still scared he'll run away.”

“Damn, girl,” Daryl mutters, looking away. She just came out and said it, and Daryl supposes they're fair questions to ask. Especially coming from her; ten years isn’t long enough for her to forget all the angst he poured into her ears during his first year with Paul. Nothing compared to what Paul was going through at the time, or when a few years later Daryl got scared himself and almost ran. Daryl wonders for the first time if the car insurance thing was just an excuse for Paul to suggest the marriage. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, “I don’t think so. But him and me, we’re good. Real good. Have been for awhile.”

She studies him for a long time then says, “Ok.” She turns her attention back to the photo album. Daryl looks over her shoulder as she pages through it; in the past twenty years he’s photographed exactly two weddings—this one plus Rick and Michonne’s. He barely remembers the photos he took of Carol’s first wedding, and the contact prints are long gone as are the negatives. He found the latter while emptying out his storage gave them to Carol one of his first nights living at the Kingdom. It night much like this one, neither them could sleep, Carol anxious about her upcoming wedding to Ezekiel, still afraid that this newfound happiness would be taken from her. They both still smoked in those days and went outside to have a celebratory burning of the negatives in one of the ashtrays on the back porch. The only memories he has of that job area general impression of fleshy beige people dressed in polyester under washed out fluorescent lights with not a single smile that wasn’t posed. He’d done what he could with what he had and Carol at least had been impressed but there was only so much you could polish a turd.

The pictures he took of Carol’s second wedding are much better. It was held here at the Kingdom, outdoors with glorious natural light. Daryl and Carol were the only two people who were at the first wedding—her parents were dead and none of her other family or friends from back then showed up. Carol was persona non grata to the old crowd, she had not only gotten _divorced_ but was marrying a black man on top of that. They weren’t really missed by the bride, since plenty of new—and in Daryl’s opinion _better—_ folks were able to take their place. People like Ezekiel’s massive extended family who'd come around after some initial skepticism and adopted Carol and Sophia both completely into the Leroy clan. Their was a gaggle of Kingdom volunteers she’d mentored, friends she’d made in the community, people in the environmental and wildlife community who just admired her and Ezekiel.

Among these groups Daryl sees a picture of a college-aged Jerry with his wife (girlfriend at the time) Nabila. Michonne and Andrea in another, the former smiling a mysterious smile and the latter red in the face from laughing at whatever her friend had said. In a coincidence that is darkly funny in hindsight the next photo is of Lori and Rick Grimes sitting stiffly next to each other. They were the only people Daryl saw that who bore a passing resemblance to the guests at Carol’s first wedding; he found out that very night that while Rick hadn’t moved out yet he’d asked Lori for a divorce.

“How’s Lori doing?” Daryl asks. He’s never been her biggest fan and vice versa; still she's Carl’s mom and had helped Carol leave Ed. Even if Daryl holds her responsible for the divorce since she was to have an affair--to Rick's former best friend, no less--she still ended up with the raw end of things after Rick left her. 

“She’s doing ok,” Carol says carefully, “She and Shane got divorced, I think this time she’s going to stay single for awhile before looking to get married again.”

“Good on her,” Daryl mutters.

More photos, more smiling people. Shots of Carol and Ezekiel posing with Shiva, Sophia held back outside the enclosure. Ezekiel trusted his feline baby girl but not enough to let her around his human baby girl, much to the latter’s disappointment. “ _She’s wild, honey. No matter how much we love her and she loves us. When you’re bigger you can get closer.”_ Carol and Michonne together looking impossibly regal, Rick in the background trying to be subtle about his staring. Daryl smiles a little; this isn’t the only picture he took of Rick and Michonne that day, probably the first ones of them taken together ever. They didn’t really _meet_ at the wedding, that was when Andrea set them up almost an entire year later. Rick definitely _saw_ her though, and Daryl has photographic evidence. It’s not in this wedding album; Daryl edited it out when he sent Carol the rest of the photos. In that picture Rick is at the punchbowl and Michonne is walking past, her back to the camera and one arm raised. She’s wearing a simple periwinkle sun dress that hugs her curves and Rick is practically breaking his neck staring. He’s pouring a ladle full of punch and missing the glass in his other hand by a few inches.

There's one of the few photos that Daryl didn’t take himself—Ezekiel dancing with his mom while Carol dances with Daryl. He remembers the song that played during that dance—Carole King’s “You Got a Friend”. Daryl eyes himself critically, he wore a tux to her wedding instead of jeans and his camera equipment was brand new and way fancier than the average wedding photographer’s kit. They reach the end of the album and Carol swallows the last of her wine then kisses his cheek. “I’m going back to bed, Pookie. If you want to watch TV the white remote controls the cable box.”

“Night,” Daryl says.

“Oh by the way,” Carol says as she gets up, “You got a complaint.”

“What? From who?” Daryl tries to remember if he snapped at any of the knights during the day.

“Some woman who said she saw you dry-humping Jesus behind the visitors center.”

Daryl feels his cheeks turn pink, “We weren’t _dry humping._ ” They weren’t even touching except for their lips and Daryl’s hand on Paul’s butt.

“Well, she was quite upset. Said she thought this was a family friendly place.”

“What’d you tell her?” Daryl says, lips quirking.

Carol’s face transforms into the wide-eyed ghost of the bride he first photographed twenty-five years ago, “Oh my goodness! What were you and your boys doing out there? That’s off-limits, did some of the signs fall down? No? Well, they’re for your safety! We’ve got a lot of dangerous animals here, did you hear about that zoo in San Francisco? One of the Siberian tigers—we’ve got five of them here—got _loose_ and _killed_ a boy. They found his corpse in the tiger enclosure with his throat slashed.” She says all this in the same tone as a woman describing the latest church bake sale.

Daryl’s still snickering for a few minutes after she’s gone.


End file.
